Don't Sugar Coat It
by M.C. Wilde
Summary: A four-part featuring L and the sweets he craves.
1. Donuts

**Part One: Donuts**

"He. Said. WHAT?" I managed to pull my eyes away from my monitor to shoot a if-looks-could-kill expression towards the intern standing in front of me.

"Th...th...that if you want to keep your job, he expects you to follow simple directions."

"I heard you the first time. Now what I want to know is WHO DOES THIS PRICK THINK HE IS THAT HE CAN ORDER ME AROUND WITHOUT EVER SHOWING HIS SHAGGY ASS IN THIS OFFICE! Well you can tell him-"

I'm cut short by the dreaded 'bing' as a new email finds its way to my inbox. The intern- who a second ago looked dangerously close to wetting his pants- breathes a sigh of relief. I let out a pathetic moan of nineteen-year-old angst and turn my attention to the message.

**Your language is not appreciated in this professional atmosphere. Neither is your treatment of my intern, who is only relaying my messages. Now, I specifically made a request for cinnamon sugar donuts, and though they were delivered in an almost timely manner, I thought you should be aware that I recieved plain donuts instead. I expect you will correct this mistake. L**

It was at least three minutes until I was able to move again, and even then my face remained frozen, my mouth a perfect O, while I felt my right hand reach blindly for my anxiety pills. _I couldn't believe this! My job was on the line over donuts! Cinnamon f-ing sugar donuts!_ My fingers had just managed to pry off the lid to my pill bottle when a second 'bing' brought me back.

It was the same message as before, save for one word that had been added to the very end. **Now.**

I glanced at the tiny, mocking numbers at the bottom of my computer screen as I coaxed my bleeding heels into my designer knockoffs. 5:28 PM.

"Shit." The man expected me to find him donuts at rush hour? In New York? "Shit."

My screen blipped a final time. **Language.**

I shoved twenty dollars in my pocket and two pills down my throat, heading for the elevator. "I'm not done with you." I snarled, causing the the intern's face once again to return to if-she-yells-at-me-again-I'm-gonna-keel-over. With the elevator door open and L's locked office door in view, I finally let loose. "Fuck! Cock! Cunt! Mother-fucker! Cocksucker! Shit! Bitch! Asshole! TITS! How's that for language, L?"

oo0oo

An hour an a half later, I'm in the staff bathroom, scraping cinnamon sugar off of four dozen churros and onto two dozen plain donuts. "Awwww!" In my surprise as my cell phone begins to ring, I've dropped my current churro on the floor. I flip my phone open as I debate silently whether or not I should continue my scraping from the pastry now residing on the bathroom tile.

"Hello?"

"I see you've not returned yet." Speak of the devil...

"No I-"

"And you've gotten no farther on the investigation at hand."

"Well because-"

"I'm sorry. I'm going to have to let you go."

_Click._

Furiously, I shove the sugar-less churros down the toilet in my stall. But I keep the donuts. I have big plans for the donuts.

_CRASH!_

I had hoped for a bigger reaction when I broke down his door- instead, he just stared at me through his sunken eyes, not even bothering to move from his crouched position.

"Here! Here are your donuts!" I pull one from the box and chuck it at him. He makes no move to avoid it, letting it hit him square in the face. "And here's the research I did inbetween your errands!" I let that scatter on the floor around me. "And just so you know, L, next time you want to fix your sugar craze at five-thirty, you're gonna have to scrape fifty god-damn churros because never again will I work for an asshole like you. I. Quit."

oo0oo

I didn't look back. Not until today, five months later when I heard his voice broadcast through the Kantou region of Japan.

---------------

A.N: I absolutely LOVE this manga, so I figured it was my time to try out a FF in this genre. Tell me what you think!


	2. Cake

**Part Two: Cake**

Many of life's greatest lessons can be learned from the food industry. For example, one cannot bring their gun to work. Nor can one wear it while waiting on tables if they want any customers at all. And without your gun, it is not advisable to yell "For the last time, we're out of turkey! Now piss off!" towards your guests. Especially if your guests are tattoo and leather clad, harley-riding bikers.

Secondly, being "smart" is no longer a compliment. And adding faster than the cash register is renamed "waitress suicide." But, most importantly, never use science as an excuse. Exhibit A:

My Manager: Why did he send back the cheesecake?

Me: He's allergic to the nuts in the crust.

My Manager: And why is he allergic to the crust?

Me: Prabbably a genetic mutation of his DNA.

My Manager: ...Are you getting smart with me?

And, of course, what would a life-lesson be without a punishment to drive your humiliation home? Cleanup duty, aka waterboarding for waitresses, is born! 

Today, though not for the first time, I find myself subjected to just such torture. Yet, instead of the usual plunger and rubber gloves, I find myself sporting a chisel and goggles. My minimum-wage mission: to remove the vast expanse of chewing gum graciously stuck to the bottom of the tables by our diner patrons.

"Eeek!" The current piece of gum I've been chiseling at has just popped off viciously, heading straight for me. I can't help but feel a bit pathetic as it bounces off my safety goggles._ So that's what those were for..._

"What? What is it? Did you find another rat?" I look up to see my heinous manager standing next to me.

"No. It was a ... piece of gum." I mutter, feeling my cheeks turn a bit red as I begin chiseling at a new piece.

"Oh...Well you've got a table to get to."

I motion to the gum menagerie in front of me "Um, I kindof know that."

"No. You've got customers." She pionts a long, bony finger over the table and my heart stops. 

There was only one person I knew that sat crouched like that.

"We have cinnamon sugar, right?"

"What? Yes. Now go take their orders."

_I knew I was being stupid: I had heard his broadcast, I had known he was here. But it was the fact that he was right here that scared the shit out of me. I mean, last time, I'd seen him, I'd thrown a donut in his face! _

But now the moment had come for us to meet again.

Cautiously, I slid my handsinto my apron, reaching for the bottle hidden deep inside.

"And no pill popping!"

I reached instead for my pen, adding a small "Damn."

"Can't say that language is appreciated."

"What?" Slightly embarrassed that I had been audible, I look up from my order pad to place the owner of the voice.

"I don't appreciate your language." He's shifted slightly to better face me, but he remains as always, hunched over.

A sudden anger rushes to my chest, one I know wasn't there before.

"Well captain-asshole-of-politically-correct-town, I'm not here for 'appreciation'. If I was, I'd be working at Hooters. Now you can order, or get off my ass, 'cause I've got a whole hell of a lot of gum to scrape!" 

An almost-smile plays at the corners of his mouth "What happened to 'the customer is always right'?"

"It got edited to 'don't piss me off, or I'll spit in your food'."

"And what about 'be nice or no tip'?"

I lowered my face inches from his, taking the challenge "I. Don't. Do. Nice."

"Really?" I could feel him getting closer, the smell of his breath so sickeningly sweet I could hardly stand it "Because I don't think it would take that much to sweeten you up." He leaned in closer still, until my vision blurred and my heart pounded and as much as I thought I wanted to, I couldn't pull away. 

I felt his hand reach for mine, passing something into it. Something small. Something made of paper. Something rather hard in its center...A wave of recognition passed over me, and every emotion I had been feeling took one definite form: anger. He had handed me a sugar packet. He had remembered.

"Why you cocky-ass son-of-a-bitch!" My limbs took on a mind of their own, my arm flying through the air, aimed directly at his face. But no slap came. Instead, I found his iron grip around my wrist. 

"Now I'd like two slices of chocolate cake. And I'd like you not to spit in them. If you can manage that, you'll still receive a tip." Letting my hand go, he calmly pulled out from his pocket, his wallet. And out of his wallet, a hundred dollar bill.

I tried my best to smile, though I'm positive it looked like I had just smelled cow shit. "Right away."

But when I returned, there was no hundred dollar bill, and no L. Only a phone number and a note scribbled in his untidy, cramped handwriting.

**We need to talk. L**

-----------------------------------

A.N.: So I originally thought this would be a threeshot, but I'm thinking more like fourshot. (I know they're not really genres, but I made it up and you understand what I mean, so be happy.) I was really surprised by the reaction to my stupid little story so I'll be posting more often than I usually do. So thanks to my reviewers, you are the reason I keep this going! And those who haven't reviewed, What're you waiting for? The little blue button down there is calling your name!

-M.C. Wilde


	3. Chocolate

**Part Three: Chocolate**

I didn't call. and so the sweets started coming. Every hour on the hour I was accosted by young delivery boys and baked goods by the dozens. Yes, dozens. Never could it be a single coffee cake or cookie or chocolate rose ... always a dozen. By the third day, I had stopped coming to answer the door altogether, prompting the deliveries to be left outside. Which meant that by the fourth day, I could no longer leave my apartment. And yet, the sweets kept coming. And so, I did the only thing I knew left to do. I dialed.

"Hello?"

My hand fell through it's support boxand into a fruit pie; it had taken him less than one ring to answer. "Uh ... Hi. It's me."

His voice seemed to brighten to high-school-cheerleader-level "Was it the peanut clusters or the truffles?"

"Neither ... Wait, what?" I pulled my hand out of the pie to inspect. _Hmmm ... cherry._

"I figured you hadn't called because I hadn't sent the right thing. So, let me guess, it was the truffles?"

"No, uh ... I don't really like chocolate. Or anything else with sugar for that matter."

"So ... you're saying if I had sent, like, green things, you'dve called sooner?"

I can't help but laugh, forgetting for a moment our history "No."

"Why did you call then?" The cockiness that made my blood boil had returned.

"Because your bribes have taken over my house and I can't move more than three feet without stepping in a vat of frosting! Now you've got thirty seconds smart-ass before I hang up."

"Smart butt."

"Twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty-"

"Alright! I have a case for you."

"I'm pretty sure Krispy-Kreme does deliveries now."

"No I want- I need your help with this case."

_Nineteen, eighteen._"Maybe I'm delusional, but uh, I remember being fired from your last case, L."

"That was before I realized you had found the information needed to convict him."

"And yet you received all the credit. Remind me where this is going again."

"Please! This is about more than just me and you!"

"THERE NEVER WAS A ME AND YOU, PERVERT!"

"YOU DON'T GET IT, DO YOU, DONUT GIRL! DO YOU WANT TO BE A WAITRESS YOUR WHOLE LIFE? I'M OFFERING YOU A SPOT ON THE KIRA INVESTIGATION!"

I sank down distractedly into a sheet-cake "Oh..."

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"Take what?"

"You gave me thirty-four seconds."

With a vengeful smile, I let my cell drop into the pot of chocolate fondue next to me. "Actions speak louder than words, L. Actions speak louder than words."

oOo

The next time the doorbell rang, I answered, surprised to come face to face not with a mountain of boxes or young uniformed salesboy, but a man in a long black trench coat. Watari.

"I'm here to deliver a package, but they seem to be having some trouble getting it out of the elevator."

"Oh, I'll help!" I push past him like a greedy child at Christmas. _I really was getting a part in the investigation-the Kira investigation-THE F-ING KIRA INVESTIGATION!! Ohmygod..ohmygod..ohmygod!! The elevator was getting closer..._

"What the-"

"Yes, I thought it was a bit extravagant also, but he insisted."

The question was less "how to get it out of the elevator", and more "how did they get it all in." Among the three all-brawn-no-brain movers were eight high-definition TVs, a laser printer, three computer monitors, more than thirty micro speakers, enough wires to stretch from here to the moon, and well, I didn't know what the hell the rest of it was...

"I thought you said a package."

Watari looked questionably at me through his eye slits "You want me to take it back?"

"Fuck no!"

In an almost fatherly guesture, he squeezes my shoulder. "I see you haven't changed a bit."

"Don't plan to."

"Good. Oh!" He reaches into the folds of his coat. "He wanted me to give this to you. Something about 'giving it one more try'" His hand receded from his coat, holding a small ring box.

Pretending not to care about the little box turned out harder than expected.

"So this is how you turn the eighth TV on. Remember, it's blue wires for.."

_Is there really a ring in there? _

"And the red-orange wires are only for sending complex faxes. Now the difference between a complex and a regular fax is..."

_No, don't be stupid. Why would he send you a ring? Does he even like me? Wait, No! Why do I even care if he likes me?_

"Did you get all that?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Uh...red wires."

He shook his head slightly as he pulled the door open._ This was it! He was leaving!_

"It was nice to see you again."

"You too, Watari."

_Three...Two...One!!_ I reached viciously into my pocket, tearing frantically at the decorative bow, my fingernails prying into the box. _This was it!_ It was...it was...

"Aaargh!" I threw the box against the wall, furious at my own stupidity.

Inside, had been a piece of dark chocolate.

A.N.: Another chapter down! Sorry, this one isn't quite as funny, but I felt it was necessary. Complex fax...if you didn't get the clue, I have absolutely NO FREAKING IDEA when it comes to technology. It's a miracle I can type this up... Anyways, my inspiration for my last three paragraphs came from the Nanny diaries when she opens her Christmas present. It's a mindless read, but it's quite good.

Pip, pip, cheerio!

-M.C. Wilde


	4. Peppermints

**Conclusion: Peppermints**

My job had been simple: to be his extra eyes and ears. He had given me all the equipment for the job, all the connections I might never need. All the trust and respect I had ever wanted. And yet, when the moment came, I could do nothing to save him. From eight different angles I watched him struggle, suffer, and die. Every time I close my eyes, I see his last pained look, a name upon his lips. I name I'd give everything to know...

"Oomph!" My collision has brought me back to reality. I've walked straight into a five year-old, a chocolate bar on the cement sidewalk, a quiver on his bottom lip.

"Oh no! Are you alright?" _I don't remember anything that nice ever coming out of my mouth before..._

He points with a stubby finger to his candy lying on the sidewalk "Y... you killed it!" His lip quivers more violently now, bringing him threateningly closer to hysterics.

"No! Don't cry!" I look around frantic for ideas. "Here! You want a dollar? Or, uh, my earrings? They're shiny, see?!" I rip the stud out of my ear and shove it inches from his face. _Oh please don't let him cry!_ It's only now I realize my studs are skulls and crossbones. Bad choice.

"Y...you're wearing dead people!"

_Oh sweet Jesus..._"No they're skulls! That's only the heads of dead people!"

"Mommmmmieeeeeee!" Quickly forgetting his chocolate, he bolts, leaving me alone once again. I'd never been good with kids...

I glanced over at the abandoned candy bar, and my thoughts returned to him. Nowadays, my thoughts always return to him...

**Flashback**

_The third and final time I'd come face to face with L was a week before his death. He'd been holding a bouquet of celery, chives, carrots, and broccoli; tied together by a gold bow. And he'd been standing in my doorway._

_"Can I come in?"_

_"No."_

_"But I brought you produce!" He held the vegetable bouquet out for me to take. Damn those puppy dog eyes!_

_"What do you want?"_

_From his baggy pants he produced a package of about twenty CDs. "It has come to my attention that your equipment is in need of updates. And as Watari is busy with matters concerning the Kira investigation, I took it upon myself to deliver them."_

_I looked quizzically, purposely shutting my door slightly. "If you're just dropping off programs, then why'd you bring me a salad?"_

_He pushed the vegetable bouquet towards me further. "They require installation."_

_Realization dawned. He would need to come in. To my apartment. "And uh, how long do you expect installation to take?"_

_"Optimistically? Five hours."_

_"Five!?" I pulled the bouquet from his hands._

_-insert sound of celery colliding with his skull-_

_"Ouch!"_

_I allowed my door to open fully. "Know that this is only for the sake of the investigation."_

_He continued to rub the bump on now forming on his forehead. "Understood."_

_We made it thirty seconds without fighting._

_"I thought you didn't like sugar."_

_"I don't. Why? Oh shit." I pulled out a nest of wires the size of my head. I sat discontentedly on the floor to begin the process of detangling. Six hours..._

_For once he made no comment about my sailor's mouth. Instead he chose to sit across from me, placing a bowl of peppermints between our feet. "I found these on your entrance table."_

_"I keep them for guests." I held the cord-ball up to him. "Do you see a plug in here anywhere?"_

_His hand disappeared for a moment, returning with a plug in between his slender fingers. "Am I to guess that they're years old, then?"_

_I took the plug from him, trying to ignore that our fingers had touched. "How did you.."_

_"You don't strike me as the kind of girl who brings home many guests."_

_"You judge me a lot, L"_

_Slowly, he unwrapped a peppermint and placed it in his mouth before answering. "Not as much as you judge me."_

_I felt my anger blaze again. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"The first time you met me you threw a churro in my face."_

_"Donut."_

_"What?"_

_"I threw a donut in your face."_

_"Ah yes. That's right. You told me to 'scrape fifty goddamn churros.'"_

_The plug and my mouth dropped simultaneously. "Did you just swear?"_

_"I was merely quoting."_

_"You still said it."_

_He snatched the wire ball back and became busy untangling. "Doesn't count."_

_I snatched the ball back. "Does too."_

_"Does not."_

_"Does too."_

_"Does. Not." He lowered his face inches from mine, snatching the ball back a final time._

_And then, I did something I had never done before. And neither of us expected. In an unexplained passion I leaned forward, pulling him to me."_

_The kiss started light, changing almost instantly to hard, sloppy, and desperate,as if we'd been waiting a year just for this moment. (Not that I wanted to admit it to be true.)_

_He pulled away slowly, a single word on his lips. "Damn."_

_I smiled. "That counts."_

_"Yes. Yes it does." He frowned for a moment. "Where has my peppermint gone?"_

_I realized then that something foreign and disgustingly sweet had remained in my mouth. I stuck out my tongue for him to witness the striped candy._

_"I should like it back now."And he leaned in again..._

**End of Flashback**

"Excuse me."

"Huh?" I looked up stupidly, a dazed expression still plastered on my face.

"Did you drop this?" In his narrow fingers he held the abandoned candy bar.

"No."

"Good." He broke off the edges that had made contact with the cement and began munching.

I laughed.

"What?"

"Well, it's just, you reminded me of a friend of mine. He was a real sugarhead too."

"Was?"

"Well, he passed away recently."

He didn't say anything for a moment, as if contemplating what to do next. Finally, he held out his hand. "I'm Mello. Do you want to go get a coffee?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled. "I'd like that."

He led me down a few blocks to a sidecart, tubs of coffee steaming next to overpriced hot dogs. "Sugar dear?" the lady asked.

"Eight please."

She raised an eyebrow, but filled the order anyway.

Mello's leather vest crackled as he pulled me closer, arm around my shoulders. "Looks like someone else is a sugarhead."

I tipped my head so he couldn't see the tear that rolled down my cheek. "Recently converted.

End.

--

A.N.: Ta Da! I think this turned out very well, though sad. But I REALLY want to hear what you, as the reader, thought. Feel free to PM me or just send a review, and I'd love it if you checked out my others stories too.

-M.C. Wilde


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